Because We Had Us

Chapter 1. The Beginning Of The End

Jo

121 days before the letter....

     "Jo will you please put that book down and play with me," my annoying but very much loved sibling urged me. "We all know you're too smart for your own good, but sister you don't know how to have fun." I slammed my book on aerospace dynamics down. I read continuously to become smarter, because if I became smarter I got closer to my dream of becoming a space journalist. And no I didn't just make that up it's a totally real thing. I am fascinated with the wonders of space and I have a knack for writing, but I prefer the word storytelling. Sometimes I think I'd rather tell and hear stories than live them, but I believe God has given me a life to live for a reason; so I live it.

     I got up from my comfy reading chair and went to go jump rope with my sister, who was pouting in a corner because I slammed my tablet. She thought I was mad at her. I constantly have to reassure her that she's ok and loved; it's exhausting but its common in most autistic kids. So I grasped her into my biggest bear hug and spun her around in the air before I sat her by the jump ropes and gave her the "I challenge you to a jump rope, even though I have to loose so you don't cry- off look." We jumped rope until we physically couldn't anymore because our muscles were as flimsy as the rope itself.

     As if they were on cue, our parents called us to the dining room to eat leftovers again. I didn't dare complain though because we had it better off than most people did during these days. Ever since the virus started spreading rapidly people started buying everything in bulk: canned food, cases of water, toiletries, and disinfectants were all gone. Food was very scare, but lucky for us both mom and dad were raised on farms learning how to grow crops and provide for themselves. The only downside was it seemed their only strong suits were in growing potatoes, tomatoes, and collard greens, which if you were wondering aren't the best combination of foods. If we were lucky dad would catch a few fish in the stream behind our house and fry them up so we could get our source of protein. If we had to we would take a trip down to the food fighting pits aka the grocery stores to get food, but we didn't necessarily want to risk being exposed to the timor virus if we didn't have to.

     We were six months into quarantine when the world went into pure panic. All schools had been shut down and transferred to online classes. Gyms, sports events, concerts, restaurants, and any other type of social gatherings had all been cancelled. I wasn't that scared even though it felt as if I was supposed to be. I mean why worry about something I couldn't control. I'm no super human though. Yes, I feel scared and depressed and all the other emotions that everyone else feels, but still to this day I don't let it control me. I'm an optimist. Literally, that is what I'm identified as now. You know humans and our need to label everything that breathes, so someone high up in the food chain of the government used the virus as another way to classify and label us.

    Everyone took a multiple choice test nationwide to determine our quarantine self reflection score or QSR score, as they called it. We weren't allowed to discuss our QSR scores with anyone, including our family members. There were six different categories that you could be placed in. Realist, survivalist, denialist, optimist, or pessimist.  Everyone six years or older had to take it, but if you were under sixteen your score was kept confidential. Personally I thought that part was a little shady, but I couldn't really complain since I was seventeen.

     I sifted through my sweet potatoes pretending my taste buds weren't vetoing them, when dad jumped up from the table and angrily switched the tv off. One of my sweet potatoes was clinging to the edge of my plate, so I scooped it back on with the side of my fork; only for this little purposeless vegetable's life to be endangered once again by dad's dramatic plop back down at the table. An awkward silence fell over our antique dining room. Our eyes were all on our once comical loving father who had turned into a living ball of anxiety. Any time the news came on reporting something about the virus he panicked and said he'd rather not spend his time listening to the events that would eventually lead up to his death.